Two Voices on Climate Change

Naming

I married long ago

Connell to Kumar

Adopted kitty Peyton

answers to Buddy

Oklahoma tornado

call it wind’s whim

Floods in Miami

moon’s caprice

Climate change

weather extreme

GOP human

puppet

© Lavinia Kumar

USDA Staff Were Coached Not to Say ‘Climate Change,’ Emails Show

Lavinia Kumar’s new poetry book, The Celtic Fisherman’s Wife: A Druid Life, is on Amazon (US & UK). Her website is laviniakumar.org.

What have we done?

Oh God, is this revenge for what we’ve done

for It appears that we have blocked the light

everything is grey, we’ve lost the sun,

each day thick clouds and rain from morn to night

The air seems thick, unpleasant to inhale,

it’s far too hot and smells of curious fumes

pervading everywhere - metallic, stale.

Some think it is the end of all that looms.

Then suddenly appearing comes the sun

and so for days temperatures soar,

no rain appears for weeks - this isn’t fun,

I’m thinking I can’t take it anymore.

Now rain appears again in such a quantity,

perhaps this is the new reality.

© Wendy Nicholson

Anger over 'untrue' climate change claims

Wendy Nicholson has previously contributed to Poetry24. She is at present a member of a Wells Poetry Group. Wendy is retired, having been a teacher, then research scientist.

Peace for Homs

In the city of Homs where the rebels have been
soldiers declare that it’s ‘Totally clean,’
the siege and the bombs
have destroyed most of Homs
but now midst the rubble recovery is seen.


The first to protest, to suffer, then fight
this city was punished to show who was right
and might will prevail,
how can it fail?
If treacherous thousands are soon put to flight.


Now no rattle of guns and explosions are heard
just the clatter of buckets and the song of a bird,
there’s no power and no water
but then there’s no slaughter
and all of that fighting was clearly absurd.


The iconic clock tower no longer keeps time
standing tall in the rubble as if to define
the Old Quarter of Homs
- what is left by the bombs -
has survived, so that everything now will be fine.


but 
though the rebels have left they all swear to return
surely this can’t be a cause for concern?
The focus we stress
is in clearing the mess,
a suggestion we hope that all citizens learn.

Devastation in Homs
© Wendy Nicholson

Wendy Nicholson is an ecologist studying animals and plants but likes painting, and writing all kinds of poetry.

Sunday Review

Hello everyone, I went to Leeds festival last weekend which was filled with music and torrential rain. I came back to your poetry on Monday which was started by Maurice Devitt with Me and my Shadow. This was a haunting story of a boy who was kidnapped in 1964 which turned out he had been returned to the wrong family. Maurice write from the perceptive of the boy, making it more haunting and heartbreaking.

Wednesday we had Cheesy Chips and a Huge TV by Carolyn Cornthwaite. This was about Jamie Oliver criticising cheese, chips and huge TVs as part of modern poverty. I felt a kind of disgruntled irony in this piece, filled with satirical imagery. I actually thought the structure of the poem was impressive.

On Thursday our own Poetry24 editor, Hamish Mack, took the reins and wrote for us, Hooray for theWreckers. The news story was a list of vice-chancellor’s salaries. It was a poem rich with imagery and irony. Carolyn Cornthwaite commented on the cannibalisation of our young and the snakes as being particularly vivid images.

Saturday was Wendy Nicholson’s Clarion Call. I chose this one to go out yesterday as I felt it was particularly strong near the anniversary of Martin Luther King’s famous ‘I have a dream’ speech. I liked how it began with ‘Why has nothing changed,’ and ends with ‘One day we shall be free!’

Unfortunately sometimes we miss days to post something, but that’s doesn’t mean we don’t read your work. Every piece is read over by all of us and we appreciate them all. Please continue to submit to us at poetry24@hotmail.comwith the title of your poem in the subject and, as usual, spread the word about Poetry24.

Michael.

Clarion Call

Why has nothing changed in Georgia
blacks still poor and rich still white?
Justice flows in one direction
veering off from what is right.

When a crime has been committed,
you are guilty if you’re black,
‘I’m innocent, not guilty.’
‘Prove it first.’ - the answer back.’

Yet fifty years have passed now
since that call for freedom spread
to change all for the better -
‘I have a dream.’ he said.

Although there’s been some progress
it has seemed so mighty slow
for all men should be equal
and there’s still some way to go.

But those words are all inspiring,
still around the world we see
others joined in hope aspiring
that  ‘One day we shall be free!’

© Wendy Nicholson

Martin Luther King

Wendy is an ecologist studying plants and animals. She also loves painting and writing poetry.

Liquid Magic

A golden stream
bursting forth
salt-enriched liquid
richly scented
pungent, aromatic
body-warm
caught, captured, diluted
cast upon the soil
a secret essence
to succour gnarled roots
and seeds
liquid magic
activates the chain
a decomposing wizardry
to make fresh shoots
appear from crumbling earth.

And now much more
of creativity
with chemistry
urine feeding microbes
Can you believe the power of pee?
Caught short no more
energy to store
as electricity!

© Wendy Nicholson

Bristol scientists use urine to charge mobile phone

Wendy Nicholson is an ecologist with many diverse interests.

Light up the lamps

Light up the lamps
to shine and pierce the dark
they cannot lift or light a spark
of life in all the dead

that have been lost
in Gaza and in Israel
here truly stand the Gates of Hell
where violence rules and tears are shed

all is despair yet still
the war goes on, the missiles fall
and no one heeds the call
for peace, revenge instead

speeds rockets in reply
so comes the dark and pain
to all again – and yet again
with no one spared.

© Wendy Nicholson

Three Israelis killed by Gaza rocket as violence escalates

Moon Landing

There’s a tiny speck of moondust in a window that I know
and it’s gazed at by the people who can see it from below,
it was given by an astronaut, a hero of our day
and now he’s gone to see the stars and ride the milky way.

Neil Armstrong was an astronaut, a hero of our time
and we celebrate his story now in poetry and rhyme,
yet he was such a modest man and shunned publicity
who would have thought that he’d secure immortality.

It was in nineteen sixty nine when three men flew in space
their mission to land on the moon - an international race.
a victory for technology, the Earth left far behind,
and everyone considered it a triumph for mankind.

Armstrong piloted the craft, the lunar module stood
upon a dusty, rocky ground, he saw that it looked good.
And so he walked upon the moon the first small step for man
successfully fulfilling the aim of NASA’s plan.

Now he soars up to the heavens where eagles dare not go,
he rides a pathway to the stars far from the earth we know,
and as the world keeps turning it’s easy to forget
but he will be remembered for mankind owes him a debt.

For on the steps of giants outstanding deeds are won,
Armstrong is remembered now by mostly everyone,
though many are forgotten he carried out a plan
and no lunar wind will blow away his one small step for Man.

©  Wendy Nicholson

Neil Armstrong remembered at public memorial

Wendy is an ecologist studying animals and plants but likes painting, and writing all kinds of poetry.

Downfall of a Dairy Farmer

What is the matter Farmer Brown
what can be troubling you?
The sun will soon be out again
no doubt there’s work to do.

But Farmer Brown in weary tones
solemnly replied
‘My situation’s desperate
of that I can confide.

I love to see my cows outside
grazing happily,
but now however hard I work
I’m faced with poverty.
Oh Daisy, Buttercup, Bluebell
they all have done their bit
their creamy milk is not enough
there’s more cash in their shit!
The government won’t listen
foreign dairies have more clout ,
they’ve cut the price of milk again
to force us farmers out.

All the while the rain pours down
so cows must be inside,
the price of feed is rising
it’s bad news for the countryside.

I love our little patchwork fields
but the future is in doubt,
for factory farms will spread out here
with local folk left out.

There’s nothing more that I can do
it’s all become a pain,
 we'll have to pour the milk away
with our earnings down the drain.

For Daisy, Buttercup, Bluebell
they all have done their bit
their creamy milk is not enough
there’s more cash in their shit!’

©  Wendy Nicholson

Farmers threaten to pour milk down the drain

Wendy is an ecologist studying animals and plants but likes painting, and writing all kinds of poetry.

Spring in Syria

The birds can still sing in the city of Homs,
where the trees are still scarred by the bullets and bombs,
there’s a carpet of glass,
on the road as you pass,
and a sniper alerted if anyone comes.

Some children of Houla are missing today,
they cannot be heard in the streets where they play,
but they’ll not play again,
no, for here they’ll remain,
Syrian violence will not go away

This is the rule of the tank and the gun,
don’t try to hide for there’s no place to run,
it’s barbaric, it’s brutal,
the world’s comments are futile
for nothing, no nothing at all, will be done.

©  Wendy Nicholson

Syria massacre in Houla condemned as outrage grows

Wendy is an ecologist studying animals and plants but likes painting, and writing all kinds of poetry.

Into the Void

That bus speeds
into the void
that kerb, that wall
the squeal of brakes
and all
the screams and cries
no time to know
the how or why
so unaware
so unprepared
too young to die

©  Wendy Nicholson

Swiss coach crash: Belgian town holds memorial service--------------------------------------------------------------
Wendy is an ecologist studying animals and plants but likes painting, and writing all kinds of poetry.

Boom and Bust

We Irish were lowly,
mystic and holy,
warm hearted, deprived but condemned to stay poor
then to our delight,
(and it seemed overnight),
everything changed with our future secure

old farmer Kelly found gold in a bucket
when digging up taties quite close to the dell
he said he had followed the end of a rainbow
and discovered the bounty, that’s all he would tell

folk thought it fantastic
became quite sarcastic
when his fields sprouted houses American style
and he lived in a palace
‘It’s becomin’ like Dallas!’
cried neighbouring farmers - but then in a while

they too began sowin’
the crop that was showin’
the way to get rich buildin’ houses real fine
even dingles were sold
with fields that were old
where our grandaddies farmed in time out of mind

who would have guessed
that folk would invest
so madly and badly in Irish affairs
the money was flowin’
and everyone goin’
to parties and spendin’ like millionaires

T’was nice while it lasted
but the boom it was blasted
away with the fairies and the bucket of gold
it was quick it was brutal
protestin’ was futile
old Ireland’s collapse was a sight to behold

with finances depleted
estates half-completed
we’re left just as poor and deprived as before
but the truth’s in the tellin’
I’m glad all that sellin’
is over for we are true Paddies once more.

©  Wendy Nicholson

Ireland at the end of the road
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Wendy is an ecologist studying animals and plants but likes painting, and writing all kinds of poetry.